


No Mercy

by postmortemtsarina



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I reject your canon and substitute it with my own, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-12-27 18:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmortemtsarina/pseuds/postmortemtsarina
Summary: (Re-written) When Mercy is taken captive by Talon, the recently recalled Overwatch scrambles to figure out what Reaper or Doomfist wants with her and how they're going to rescue her. When evidence begins to point to the destruction of the Switzerland Headquarters, the secrets of the senior agents must be revealed, as Mercy's life may count on it.Ch. 6: The Overwatch team forms a plan moving forward. Doomfist gets a phone call. Moira makes a phone call. Efi's flight is cancelled.





	1. Mercy Is Taken Captive

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna make this real short but yeah I was never really confident in the original version of this fic so I've been rewriting it for some number of weeks now. I felt like a lot of my descriptions were kind of lazy and borderline racist so I switched those up too. And the maudlin plot progression. And the weak characterization. And the typos. Anyways I hope this new work is a marked improvement that makes up for my absence!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy is taken captive.

Winston sent a team of six to New Nevada. When he arrived at their lodgings on an emergency request at four a.m., he was met by only five.

The first thing he noticed when the door to the cabin base was unlocked was the utilitarian style of the bandages wrapped thickly around Hanzo’s head. Reinhardt sat across from the archer at the dining room table- large fingers steepled and knuckles bruised. In the glow of a stationary biotic field, his expression was positively murderous. Winston noted Bastion seated beside the couch in turret mode and then tried to meet Symmetra’s avoidant eyes as she held the door.

“Tracer is asleep upstairs,” the architect says as she shuts the door behind him, “her emotional exhaustion was compromising her grip on our present.”

“And Mercy? Where is she?” Winston asked. The team looked quite worse for wear- telltale bruises and weak band-aids that the Valkyrie doctor would never have allowed to remain after battle.

Only Reinhardt would look him in the eyes, trembling with silent rage.

“Talon has her.”

\--

Aside from a bruised and stinging cheek, Mercy was delivered to her holdings unharmed. The agents that manhandled her did not expect a sworn pacifist to put up such a fight. Even when they finally isolated her from the rest of her team at the omnium she dodged and fluttered, almost intangible as the wind. However, Talon was not comprised of amateurs.

She was all but thrown into the room which was furnished with a desk and chair, a threadbare futon on the floor, and a toilet behind a curtain. She chose to huddle between the curtain and the stainless steel commode. At least it had a seat.

She took the quiet stretched out before her to further survey her limited accommodations. Namely, to search for hidden cameras. She could see none from her vantage point on the floor, but she still felt watched.

“Doomfist, if you arranged this, come out and face me. I’m not afraid of you,” she said, crossing her arms. If she was to be tortured and killed here, she would not show fear.

The hiss of maglocks disengaging caused her to peek out from behind the curtain, body tight and poised to fight. The door opened silently and then Reaper was there, the black of his suit and cloak appearing to suck in the meager light around him.

In his hands was a laptop.

Without even acknowledging her, he walked to the desk and set it down.

“Besides a worm on this laptop being manned by Sombra, this room is completely unmonitored. You will not be harmed; this is my operation under a favor from Talon,” he opened up the computer. “The worm is only there to ensure you do not try to contact Overwatch. If she catches you she will immediately close the connection. Otherwise you have complete access to the internet and your research.”

“Procured somehow by Sombra, I imagine,” Mercy huffed. Sombra had been something of a boogeyman lately, consistently needling at Overwatch’s firewalls but otherwise nonexistent.

“She circumvented your security with the window provided by Winston leaving Gibraltar to meet with your team in New Nevada. Just in time to copy your files before the audio medic could stop her.”

“What do you want?”

Reaper came around the desk and sat in the chair, one heavy boot crossed over his knee.

“I need your help.”

…

Mercy was furious enough to laugh in the face of death.

“You need my help? You have terrorist goons kidnap me, your pet hacker steal my life’s work, and put me in a cage because you need my help? Whoever you are, go to hell.”

Reaper said nothing, Mercy continued to glare at him.

After a tense moment, he got up and left. When the maglocks engaged once more, she sunk to her knees. What could he possibly expect her to help him with?

\--

“Recap. Now,” Winston pulled up a chair. Above him, he heard the floorboards creak. Tracer must have woken up. Hanzo sighed and rubbed his temple.

“I had the vantage point. It is my fault this happened,” he held up a hand before Reinhardt could steal the blame. “I saw it all. The capture of the omnium was going well. Too well. It turns out that Reaper and a group of Talon operatives had cut a swath through the old security turret nests behind the facility in order to flank our forward advance.

They disabled our bastion first with some sort of attached device and then moved in with a force of about fifteen. It is around this time that I became aware of them and alerted the team, but it was too late. They separated us, and then demolished the watchtower I had stationed myself in to mask their escape. I lost consciousness from my injuries shortly after.”

“By the time we were able to tell up from down, the surviving Talon operatives had escaped and Mercy was gone with them,” Reinhardt finished. “It was a humiliating failure. Worse so, Mercy could be in grave danger right this second.”

Winston nearly jumped as his communicator went off.

“Yo, Winston? You probably don’t want to hear this, but we have a situation back at base,” Lúcio said.

“God, what is it now? …That’s not directed at you, Lúcio. I’ve just been informed that Mercy has been taken captive,” Winston rubbed the bridge of his nose. On the other end, Lúcio gasped.

“This might be relevant, then. You know Sombra? She must have known you were on an emergency flight out last night because she launched another attack and made off with a copy of Mercy’s hard drive before Torbjörn and I could pull the plug on her,” Lúcio chose his next words carefully. “I think whatever skeletons Mercy keeps in her closet- besides the anatomical one- definitely have something to do with this. Something between her and Reaper.”

“And if Reaper’s involved McCree, 76, and Ana are going to want to know,” the agents gathered before Winston all looked at him warily, only getting so much of the conversation. Tracer lurked near the bottom of the stairs, uncharacteristically quiet.  Being Overwatch veterans, she and Reinhardt new better than the others what it meant whenever any scenario nearing Mercy, Reaper, McCree, Soldier: 76, and Ana surfaced. It seemed they could no longer dodge confronting it any longer.

The Switzerland incident might have something to do with this.

\--

Reaper did not come again until the next day. In between that, Mercy was given dinner and allowed a brief shower. Never the idle damsel, Mercy analyzed her captors. While Reaper held a lot of clout among Talon, it was clear his position among their ranks was unstable even after freeing their most charismatic leader. Among the grunts she was often in custody of, he was hated but feared. They much rather preferred Widowmaker, who was more loyal to Talon than he. She never saw any of the higher ups within Talon during her guarded forays from the cell- nor did she see Sombra. Even on her apparent side, she was an enigma. It was possible she was not even on location like Doomfist, who was apparently back in Numbani monitoring something.

When Reaper came in with a breakfast ration for her, she asked him about his only three bonafide allies.

“You seem to be a stranger to these people, with the exception of Widowmaker, Sombra, and Doomfist. Your subordinates do not seem to trust or like you.”

“If you’re trying to make me scared of mere footsoldiers, it won’t work. I have the authority and the manpower I need to achieve my needs for now.”

“Loyal to only yourself, then?” She began to approach him.

“Hard to be loyal to anything but.”

“…What happened to you?”

“You tell me, doc.”

“Who are you?” Tentatively, she reached for his face. He flinched back, a crack in the façade. She steeled herself and then reached for him again, but just barely touched the rigid jaw of the owl mask. Reaper was vibrating with consideration, weighing a million things upon his broad shoulders. Finally, he answered, though they both knew it was way out of line for their roles.

“A dead man.”

The mask came off and behind it was the rotting visage of Gabriel Reyes.


	2. Overwatch Catches Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper reveals his identity. Overwatch catches up. Sombra cyberbullies Mercy. Hanzo is insecure. McCree reminisces.

Mercy was seized by nausea at the pale red of Reyes’ pupils, floating in a sea of black. At his skinless mouth and nose and spots of inky substance pooling in scattered pores.

“I usually have the energy to keep up a relatively normal face,” she heard his voice above her as the floor spun beneath and heat clutched her temples. She was dry heaving before she was even aware of it, vaguely cognizant that Reyes had gently walked her to the toilet and was holding her hair away from the bowl. “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

“How…” Mercy gasped, “How could I possibly know what made you like this?”

“It’s not all you fault. Not completely.”

“What-“

“I’ll tell you later. You’ve had a shock. You should rest,” he led her to the futon on the floor and then set her down as gently as he could manage. Even in her dizzied state, through the strange smoke emitting from Reyes’ exposed skin, she could detect instability in his grip. He was fighting to control a spasm in his arms as if he was having trouble with delicate movements. Once he had propped her head on the thin pillow he got up, put his mask back on and walked towards the door.

“If you are feeling better later, test out the laptop. Review your old files on the Orpheus Project. I can’t keep you without sending Doomfist information forever,” he said, pausing in the doorway to cast one last look at her. She searched the pits of the eyes of his mask for an expression but found nothing. The protest she had died in her mouth even though she had so many more questions. Whatever glimpse of her old friend she had been allowed was obscured once more.

\--

The briefing room held a grim collection; Winston, Ana, Soldier: 76, Tracer, Torbjörn, Genji, Mei, Reinhardt and McCree. There was no small talk, as there often was during a normal mission debriefing so Winston cut to the chase, turning on the projector. A full-scale image of the New Nevada omnium, nestled in a cradle of mountain and pine, illuminated the dark room with light browns and green. In the upper corner of the image was a vague screenshot of Reaper leaving a wreckage, ominous.

“This image we retrieved from one of the surviving security cameras on the omnium confirms that Reaper was involved in the kidnapping of Mercy from New Nevada. Approximately five hours after this, the team sent to secure the omnium regrouped at their base of operations to send me an emergency summons,” Winston adjusted his glasses, “I arrived at the base at four in the morning. This means we can approximate Mercy’s disappearance to around five o’clock yesterday. It’s one p.m. now so Reaper and Talon have had her for nearly a day. That’s twenty hours too long.”

“What we know from Sombra’s involvement with this is that Reaper is no longer interested in acquirin’ the coordinates of all known current and previous Overwatch agents or they would have taken that information first. Instead Sombra went right for Mercy’s personal computer through Athena’s cloud,” Torbjörn added.

“Reaper doesn’t need the location of Overwatch operatives now that we’ve all been recalled anyways,” Soldier: 76 cut in.

“Well, yeah,” Torbjörn shrugged.

“That’s about all we know so far. Athena is trying to track Sombra with Lúcio’s help but retrieving the necessary information is going to take around twelve hours. Sombra covers her tracks well and it’s strange that she’s left so many breadcrumbs this time. That means she was either hasty or she wants us to follow her. We can’t afford to devote all our efforts to something that may be a red herring. In the meantime,” Winston looked towards Ana and Soldier, “There are some things we need to know. About Reaper… and Switzerland.”

Ana tossed up her hands when everyone’s eyes turned to them. Soldier did not make any outward reaction, stone still.

“All I know about the Switzerland base is that they okayed me faking my death. It was shifty, but that’s what I needed at that time in my life. I was halfway across Africa by the time I heard about the explosion.”

“And my memory is… vague,” Soldier gritted, “To be honest I’m not quite sure how I survived, only that I watched Reyes die. I saw him fall.”

\--

Mercy wasn’t sure when she fell asleep but she bolted up as soon as the slightest glimmer of awareness struck her eyes. She whipped around to face the door. She was alone.

Like a newborn foal, she maneuvered to her feet and wobbled to the desk to sit down. Just the mere movement was enough to exhaust her once more. She looked to the side of the laptop. The breakfast of toast and fruit Reaper brought her had gone stale, the orange slices filmy and the bread cold. Beside the plate was a mug of water. She drank it down before getting to work. She still didn’t know why Reaper wanted her to look at that project, but she did know nothing good could come of it. Knowing that Reaper was Gabriel Reyes now made it that much more ominous, stringing together memories she never wanted to make and motivations she never wanted to learn of.

Mercy opened the laptop and then went into the file browser. The placement of all her research was exactly like the one on her computer at Gibraltar, just as Reaper said they would be. She guided the mouse through several folders before coming across the one she needed. The folder itself was locked, simply titled “O”. She hesitated, cursor hovering over it. A chat box popped up, a message in Spanish displayed shortly after.

**Sombra: Long time no see, doctor. Working hard or hardly working?**

Mercy wracked her brain for a proper response. It had been a while since she had spoken Spanish. When she replied, she found she had already been signed in.

**Médica: Will you be providing commentary on everything I look at today?**

**Sombra: Oh, doctor. You don’t need to type in Spanish. I know it’s not your strong suit. I just wanted to check on you.**

**Médica: I’m fine. Do you know what Reaper wants my help with?**

**Sombra: Maybe I do. Information is power. Do you know what Reaper wants your help with?**

**Médica: I’m tired of cryptic responses. What does Reaper need from me that he can’t get from you stealing my files?**

**Sombra: A prostate exam, maybe? Something to do with your Orpheus Project. Tried to interpret it. Didn’t understand the jargon. Something about resurrection? Messy stuff, Mercy.**

**Médica: I don’t blame you for not understanding. A lot of it was very theoretical. I had to can it when I lost all of the physical research at the-**

All of the physical research was lost when the Switzerland base blew up.

G-d, the nuclear reactor. The spawn chambers. Morrison and Reyes.

**Sombra: Mercy?**

**Sombra: Mercy? Why are you making that face?**

**Sombra: Wait, don’t shut the computer.**

**[Sombra is typing…]**

Mercy shut the laptop and collapsed upon her futon for the second time that day, head in her arms, eyes wide and mind churning.

**[User Médica’s computer has entered sleep mode]**

\--

The twelve hours leading up to Athena retrieving the data left behind by Sombra were tense. Most of the new members were content to skirt around the recalled members, vaguely hopeful that whatever was being done to find Mercy would include them soon. Hanzo probably knew the most, resigned to darken the doorway of the infirmary at least twice a day so Lúcio could check on his concussion. It wasn’t nearly as serious as the frequency of his visits may imply, but it gave Lúcio a distraction from that damnable progress bar on the computer and Hanzo some companionship given his usual tethers to Overwatch were uncharacteristically distant.

He knew Mercy was his brother’s savior and a sister figure to McCree. He liked her too, found her gentle professionalism admirable, but he also knew she had many secrets. Her youth was mummified in red tape, and every year after twenty a careful balance of the hidden history on her shoulders and a path forging toward atonement through humanitarian acts. Even calling her his brother’s savior came with strings attached. She rebuilt over 60% of his body because of his prior intentions to secretly leave the Shimada clan and join Overwatch, but was forced by the higher ups to accent his life-saving cyberization with weaponized prosthetics and armor or the funding for his treatment would be cut. They were still good friends, yes, but his brother would never be the same from her intervention and that was something Hanzo had taken a long time to accept. Just as Genji had himself, no doubt.

He had heard plenty of stories about her as a younger woman from McCree too, even more idealistic than she was now and utterly devoted to study. She had treated him when he was arrested by Overwatch because she just so happened to be visiting the illustrious Switzerland base at the same time. Whenever McCree, Mercy and Pharah (then known simply as “Little Fareeha”) were at the same base at the same time, there was bound to be trouble. He liked to hear about who the strangers around him used to be. Of course, he liked all of McCree’s stories.

For all his poetic conjecture as his pupils shrank and grew appropriately to the small flashlight Lúcio held before him, it was just a roundabout way of admitting to himself that he didn’t know shit about Mercy and thus was missing a chunk of McCree and Genji’s hearts.

“You have spent much time with Mercy, correct?” Hanzo asked as Lúcio began unwrapping his old bandages. They would not be replaced. He was healed and healthier than he ever was before Overwatch and continuing to play patient would have been a waste of their time.

“Oh yeah, she was- she’s a peach. You haven’t?” It seemed Lúcio was glad to for the opportunity to be free of his own dark thoughts, if the mistake in tense was anything to go by. Could be nothing, could be a terrible possibility.

“I have not. I ah, am not the social butterfly like you.”

“Few people are; it’s my special talent, heh,” the Brazilian laughed, “Not that not being one’s a bad thing, you know. You’re a reserved guy, I respect that.”

“And I your talent,” Hanzo smiled and Lúcio visibly brightened.

“You’re so polite and smooth, man! Y’know, when we get Mercy home you should see her. She’d be totally charmed to chat with you about more than your sodium intake. I keep tellin’ everyone we ought to do stuff as a team, like game nights maybe?”

“You’re terribly worried about her,” Hanzo observed.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” Lúcio tossed his locs over his shoulder. “I don’t know, she has a lot of experience but I’ve seen Widowmaker. From across a battlefield. Talon could do that to Mercy. They could…”

“You are an empathetic man, Lúcio,” Tentatively, Hanzo placed a hand on the audio medic’s knee. Squeezed it, offered him kind eyes.

“C’mon man, you’ll make me cry,” Lúcio laughed as he squeezed Hanzo’s hand back.

There was a small burst of fresh air as the automatic door to the infirmary slid open to reveal Tracer; hands wrung behind her back, nervous.

“Oi, have either of you seen Ana, 76, or McCree? Winston’s been looking for them for hours now.”

\--

_A memory unearths itself from the deep._

_There is a distant whisper of air through leaves, cries of distant birds and shouts of comrades._

_But silent is the mound of dirt ahead of him, a single wooden post rising from it. Though the sound of panting and low woofs are what he wants to hear, the grave is still._

_“That’s the one you named, right?”_

_Reyes has appeared behind him like a phantom, supernaturally quiet. McCree wonders if the super soldier program is responsible for his stealth or if he’s naturally that good. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s state-sanctioned human experimentation._

_“Yeah. Blondie.” The hound was a peculiar mutt, some sort of Doberman with a blonde streak, “Tackled me out of a Junker minefield in Post-Brisbane. Took him home in a soup can.”_

_“Good boy; saved your life.” Reyes sits down beside him, lights the unlit cigar rolling between McCree’s lips._

_“Brave boy. More heroic than I am.” McCree takes a drag, feels hot tears in his eyes and wants Reyes to fuck back off into the shadows so he doesn’t see them._

_“You can cry, Jesse. It’s not unmanly,” too late. He heard the tremor in his voice._

_“I never cried when anyone in Deadlock died. Not even for my brothers.”_

_“They would have chewed you up if you did. Wasn’t safe to cry.”_

_“And it’s safe to cry here? In front of the world’s bravest heroes?”_

_“Crying’s what makes you brave here. Helps you remember you’re human at the end of the mission, that the deaths mattered. I’m not gonna give you a lecture about how you’re just a kid, lord knows Jack’s getting tired hearing about it. Just know anyone that gives you shit about it’s going to have to answer to me.”_

_…_

_A new memory, a cold rooftop in Kolkata. Four years burnt in the Blackwatch flame, sparks swallowed by the stars._

_“This job can’t be kosher for Overwatch,” McCree chuckles nervously. The rooftop is a hotel and the stars above are winter ones. Christmas is in a week, Chanukah the day before it, and Fareeha’s birthday is the day before that. McCree thinks of her fondly. She’s getting restless. Wants to start training to join Overwatch more than she wants to learn how to drive._

_“It doesn’t have to be,” Reyes is crouched next to him, looking over the busy streets. He’s got one shotgun resting over his neck and the other between his legs, eyes like a bird of prey. “Jack can consider this one a favor.”_

_“I was gonna say. Silencing detractors kind of goes against that good old code of ethics we’ve got,” To tell the truth, McCree is a bit uncomfortable with the job but he trusts Gabe. The other man has a powerful sense of right that simply exceeds the law. McCree can understand his vision, has experience working beyond the law too. Working beyond it for good instead of bad is markedly more appealing._

_“Hn. This detractor is one we can’t afford to turn our backs on, though. He’s about to get his way. Vishkar lapdog- doesn’t like that Overwatch operates above the law without them having a hand in it. I’ve had a friend do some hacking; Vishkar’s got weight to throw around and they’re gonna use it to set Overwatch up. Frame Blackwatch, leash me and Jack.”_

_“Fuck that,” McCree spat. “Let’s make this quick.”_

_…_

_A third memory. A bad one. More years in the fire for increasingly less sparks of glory. It’s begun to leave him a cinder of a man._

_“You’re leaving?”_

_Reyes is in the doorway. McCree doesn’t answer him, just pulls the drawstring on his duffel tight._

_“Hey. Are you leaving?”_

_McCree hefts the bag over his shoulder. He doesn’t have much to his name and he’s taking less with him. Gabriel grabs his other shoulder._

_“What the fuck-“_

_“Yeah, I’m leavin’. Get your balls untwisted.” McCree snaps and pushes past him._

_“No you aren’t. What’s this about?” Gabriel grabs his shoulder again. Holds him tighter this time._

_“Yes I am. Get out of my way.” Again, McCree jerks his shoulder out of his commander’s grip._

_“This about me denying your transfer from Blackwatch to Overwatch? About me keeping you from running crying into Morrison’s arms like Genji did? Going get too rough for you?”_

_“Rough doesn’t even begin to describe the shit you’re having us do now, Reyes. I’m tired of it. It-it doesn’t feel right anymore.”_

_“So you’re gonna quit like a coward instead of telling me to my face you don’t like what I’m doing.”_

_“Oh fuck you, you’re not even fucking listening to me! I know you’re pissed with Jack, you’ve been pissed at him since his lily-white ass got to be Strike Commander and you got Blackwatch as a consolation prize. I get that part, I do. What_ you _don’t fucking get is that we’re getting caught too much. We can’t keep doing radical work now that everyone’s paranoid about us operating under their homes.”_

_“What, and you’ve got an idea who’s been leaking our mission dossiers? You don’t fucking get it, McCree. You don’t fucking waltz in here in handcuffs and think you know shit about me and Morrison because you’ve been my right hand man for a couple years. If either of you knew the fucking otherworldly shitstorm I’ve been keeping at bay so Overwatch’s gloves stay clean you’d keep your mouths fucking shut.”_

_“Then_ tell _us, Gabriel. Hell, don’t even fucking tell me, just tell Jack. Let him help you, because I don’t fucking want to anymore. I can’t afford to get dirtier. The world’s already back to wantin’ me crucified after the failure in China. They didn’t even like the fact I was out scouting ahead for the London Uprising.”_

_“So you’re gonna run.”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna run. I’m a fuckin’ coward, abandoning your sinkin’ ship.”_

_“…They’re just gonna make you a wanted man again.”_

_“I think I’m alright with that. Better wanted than dead. I’ll have an easier time clearing my name if I’m still breathin’.”_

_“They’re never gonna clear you, kid. Not you or I. Whether we’re dead or alive.”_

_…_

“…Dead or alive, huh.”

“You dreaming of Bon Jovi over there, McCree? I thought you told Reinhardt he was too cheesy,” Ana asked. McCree cracked an eye open and gave her a lazy smile.

“Nah, just thinking of something someone said.”

The hypertrain cabin door slid open. Solder: 76 walked in, hands in pockets. It was weird seeing him in plainclothes. Stealth missions weren’t usually his modus operandi but here he was, in a baseball cap and sunglasses. He looked like someone’s dad. Maybe he would have been if he followed a different trail all those years ago. Maybe this was the only trail he was meant to follow. McCree had too many trails threading through his life to keep track of. He still wasn’t certain there was one that wouldn’t end in an early death.

“We’re about half an hour out from Geneva. Should arrive there at 04:10 hours. You ready to roll?” 76 asked.

“Normal person terms, dear,” Ana demurely adjusted her floral hijab.

“Ready when you are, daddy-o,” McCree flicked a finger gun at him and adjusted his seat. Now that the old soldier was here, he wouldn’t have to get lost in his memories again. 76 was a surprisingly animated talker during transit. Ana explained when they boarded all those hours ago that the hum of the levitating train made her tired. Fragments of the memories he had already been visited by, however, did not disperse so easily once summoned. Particular pieces returned quicker, uncomfortably relevant to their unapproved mission to Switzerland. Blondie’s grave, Morrison sitting just across from him once more, Reyes…

McCree had to admit: in all his years with Blackwatch, he’d never once been grave digging.


	3. Soldier: 76 Has Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree, Soldier: 76, and Ana go graverobbing. Soldier: 76 has secrets. Reinhardt is annoyed.

The Overwatch Memorial Cemetery was an emerald green field, culminating in a hill overlooking the contained wreckage of the Switzerland Watchpoint. There were some outcroppings of towering pines. Graves were consistently spaced, no stone flashier than the other.

During the day, the cemetery would see about ten visitors at the most. For all its venerable presence, the people of Geneva were content to forget about it, just as the world wished to forget Overwatch itself.

But Soldier: 76, Ana, and McCree were not daytime visitors.

The moon rose gibbous over the cold, damp expanse of the cemetery; its unorthodox visitors as silent as the graves beneath them. There were five patrols traveling the property in a grid that they would need to watch out for; besides the trees, there would be nowhere to hide from the armed guards. Sunrise would be in a few hours. They would have to be quick.

“Can you hear me?” Ana was stationed within a tree in a manicured triangular formation, rifle loaded with sleep darts.

“Loud and clear, you tryin’ to get us caught?” McCree joked, shrugging off his leather jacket. The cold of the night made the scarred divide where his arm ended and prosthetic began ache. When they got Mercy back, he’d need her to run a checkup on it- make sure the nerves were connected properly. And they _would_ get her back.

76 looked down at the marble grave they stood over, nestled in the base of the hill.

“Here lies Gabriel Reyes, Blackwatch Commander,” he said to himself, then glanced up at the hill where Ana was stationed. He remembered Giza, the way Reaper had talked just like Gabriel; known things that only he would. But the way Ana had looked when she took off his mask…

76 looked at his own grave right beside his old friend. He did not know what they would find beneath the dirt, but it wasn’t going to be Reyes.

And yet forty minutes of miserable labor later…

“Ana, get down here. You need to see this,” McCree made the call. When it came to guts, perhaps he had surpassed 76 through the years; got wiser, braver. All the old soldier could do, however, was look at the remains in the coffin and wonder what they meant.

A pained gasp announced Ana’s arrival on the scene, rifle still prepped for fire at a moment’s notice.

“This really him?” McCree lit a cigar to calm his nerves but his eyes betrayed how wrong he knew what they had done was.

Ana approached the body, lips pursed by the smell. Half of the body was burnt and decaying with flowing black tendrils squirming for something in the lining of the coffin.

The other half was completely intact, almost fresh.

If it weren’t for the obvious decay eating up his other half and lack of pulse, Gabriel almost seemed to be simply asleep. Ana said something in Arabic under her breath before facing her companions.

“This isn’t a fake. But in Giza… I wasn’t sure… I wanted to do this to be sure but I know what I saw. It was also him!” She faced them both but her single eye seemed to pierce 76 like a hawk; seizing his mind with her talons. “Jack… what happened in Switzerland?”

“I can’t remember,” 76 said.

“You’re lying.”

76 turned to face McCree.

“What?”

McCree took a puff of his cigar and leveled a glare at the other man.

“I wasn’t sure before… back at the meeting, but now I can see it in your face. You’ve been telling us less and less about that day since you got here and I think it’s because you’re starting to like being part of Overwatch again. You don’t want us to know what happened. But you owe it to us now. You owe it to me, to Ana, and to Mercy.”

Soldier 76 looked at his grave.

“You’re right. But I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t?” Ana asked, “Or won’t?”

“You will. Right now,” McCree stepped forward and Soldier stepped back. Again, forward and again, back.

“Jack…” Now Ana was involved.

“I can’t! That’s the end of it. We’re getting a sample to analyze and we’re going back to Gibraltar. That’s an order.”

“No, you don’t get to order us around. You’re not commander anymore!” McCree snatched 76’s wrist and was met by a resounding crack as the soldier punched him square in the face.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled as McCree reeled, strengthened his stance and then tackled him to the ground.

“ _Jack!”_ Ana yelled.

“Did you kill Reyes?!” McCree yelled “You son of a bitch, did you kill him?!”

“Jesse, _stop it_!” Ana grabbed for McCree’s shirt when 76 leveled another punch to the underside of his chin, knocking McCree’s head into hers. She yelped and reeled back, feeling blood pour from her nose. McCree was only further enraged.

“I didn’t kill him! Don’t you fucking say tha- guh-“ 76 yelped as McCree snatched his lapels and slammed his head down on his own grave.

“ _STOP!!_ ” Ana screamed.

Suddenly, blinding white light flooded them from every direction, casting deep shadows over the grass. There was a screech of tires as all five patrols arrived on the scene by jeep, armed to the teeth.

“Shit…” McCree muttered, putting his hands up.

They had been caught.

\--

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get you three released?” Reinhardt was furious, his broad form eclipsing the overhead light like a storm cloud. It didn’t help that the visiting room was rather cramped as well. Ana, McCree, and Soldier: 76 sat in the chairs across the table like punished children despite the severity of the charges against them.

“Sneaking onto government property, unlawfully exhuming remains, fighting _each other_! And you did not even tell anybody where you were going! What would you have done if I did not know some of the officers and this got to the news? You would have put Overwatch right back in the ground!”

“We knew you wouldn’t let us go quietly,” 76 said, arms crossed, “Too much Overwatch activity focused in on one of our old stomping grounds would attract more attention than going incognito.”

“Going incognito obviously had its own inherent risks now, didn’t it? You’re not alone anymore, any of you. Why can’t you see that?”

Ana looked at the floor. Her bandaged nose ached.

“I didn’t think Reyes would be in there… but if he was, I didn’t want you to see him like that. I didn’t even want to bring McCree along,” she admitted quietly.

“He wouldn’t answer our questions even if you two had gone alone,” McCree muttered, “He’s too in love with the sanctity of his dead reputation to clear his own best friend-“

“That’s _enough_ , Jesse.” Reinhardt’s tone shut him right up, “All of you are being immature. Jack, you must tell us what happened here. If any of this means anything to you; our mission, this world, our family, you have to tell us. Please, show us we mean something to you.”

Soldier: 76 ran a hand down his face, sighed deeply, and removed his visor. There were dark circles under his eyes. He couldn’t focus on anything without the visor, his milky irises wandering along the table, following the reflection of light.

“The higher-ups requested Mercy begin work on a top-secret project. The only parties privy to this information were them, Mercy, Reyes and I. We were only selected because of our time in the same super soldier program from which one of the researchers would be present. We were going to be guinea pigs: inspirational guinea pigs. Overwatch was already under fire for the heavy casualties it netted during missions reclaiming war-torn locations so it would have been a bad idea to use lower ranked operatives.”

“To use them for what?”

“Curing death.”

“Bull. Shit.” McCree snapped. Soldier gave a small harrumph.

“Maybe that was overdramatic. It wasn’t about curing death completely, but about saving a life that second after it would normally be lost. An emergency kickstart… like a defibrillator that would use the potential energy released by death to jolt one back to life within a given timeframe. Gabriel started to think it was a murder plot. To get rid of him, frame Mercy, and give me a reason to keep fighting.”

McCree leaned back in his chair. Unbeknownst to the other three, Gabriel’s alleged suspicion reminded him of that night in Kolkata. The assassination was successful, the body disappeared, but emails had already been sent and Gabriel’s hacker didn’t have the resources to chase them down. There was a conspiracy afoot that they couldn’t find the root of, couldn’t chase down. It took years of digging, its truths remaining illusive and the extent of its influence immeasurable.

“With nanite technology, Mercy could easily come up with something like that,” Ana said.

“Her Caduceus staff is definitely a souvenir from that research…” Reinhardt added.

“Reyes was right, wasn’t he?” McCree asked, though he already knew the answer. It dawned on all of them before Soldier even said a word. Through the fog that was now his vision without the tactical visor, Soldier noted motion from McCree’s right hand that showed he was shaking for a cigar. Soldier groped the table for the carafe of weak coffee the authorities had left them, shakily poured the outlaw a mug and slid it over as a peace offering. He couldn’t see if it was accepted but he could hear the mug taken off the table.

“The researcher died with us in the Switzerland explosion, and the number of higher-ups I actually know _and_ are still alive is small. It’s one of the things I was working on before I set it aside to rejoin you all. But… yes. I think he was. He was trying to safeguard the reactor Mercy was working with from sabotage that night. I let them tell me he was down there trying to sabotage it himself. The only explanation I can think of for what happened while we were fighting was that they were one step ahead of us and rigged the reactor to explode. Next I knew, I was holding onto him as he was dangling off the walkway over the meltdown. It felt like my eyes were on fire, looking into that enormous yellow inferno. He was burning and healing in my arms and I couldn’t hang on because I was a coward. I woke up under a sea of rubble at dawn and fled into the woods.”

There was a smear of white in Soldier’s now tear-blurred vision as McCree slid him a mug of coffee back. The olive branch had been accepted, conditionally.

“Now was that so hard?” McCree drawled, but understanding hung in his voice. It was a rat’s nest of a situation; the grand spark that ignited Overwatch’s implosion.

“Oh, quiet.” Ana said, “Jack, thank you. We have to debrief everyone on this now, do you understand? The time for secrets has passed. We’re a team again.”

“It’s already out to you, I don’t mind anymore. I just… I need some time.” 76 looked in Reinhardt’s direction- “We have to stay in custody until noon, right?”

Reinhardt nodded.

“I need to lie down. Let me know when we’re set to ship out.” If anyone had followed the old soldier to their shared holding cell, be it immediately or after they chugged through the paperwork to pay their trespassing fines and secure Reyes’ remains for autopsy, they would have seen the shell of a hero. No longer a young idealist groomed and primed to save the world. Betrayed by his own image, involved in the death of his best friend and everyone’s innocence. Taking deep sucking breaths through silent sobs in a dark room.


	4. Sombra Goes To College

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper gets his intentions and health habits criticized. Widowmaker gets existential. Sombra goes to college.

The next morning when Reaper entered her room with breakfast (oatmeal this time, plain but hot), Mercy had a list of demands. Her fighting spirit soothed him; he had heard from Sombra that she had a horrible revelation about the nature of her own work and he was glad it had not broken her.

“I’m going to need access to medical equipment and several samples from you,” She began, arms crossed and standing ramrod straight to try and meet his height, “When did you first begin to experience your condition destabilizing more than normal?”

“About a month ago,” Reaper set the bowl of oatmeal down on the desk. “I was on a mission in San Francisco when I blacked out and woke up as a puddle in a cargo yard in Stockton. I had to kill rats for their energy to restore a somewhat human shape.”

“Life energy, of course,” Mercy muttered to herself as she flipped open her laptop. There was a string of messages from Sombra demanding she speak to her.

“You shouldn’t ignore Sombra; she gets petty when she’s mad,” Reaper said, “She can also help you secure information from restricted sources.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” The doctor said, though the faraway look in her eyes showed his words were no longer the center of attention as her mind ran a mile a minute. “How have you been managing your health since the first incident? Talon doesn’t seem to have a pest problem for you to take advantage of.”

“They do have a strict procedure for dealing with competition, though. I tail Widowmaker in taking out other terrorist cells.”

“It would be easier to hunt civilians,” Mercy sniffed flippantly, “Based on your skirmishes with Winston and Tracer I didn’t think you were opposed to taking innocent lives. Before I knew who you were, at least.”

“Don’t mistake my intentions. I’m not part of Overwatch and I’m not going to run off with you once you fix me. I’m not afraid to kill to do what I need to do.”

“Yes you _are_ afraid,” she snapped. Reaper was taken aback by her immediate response, “Otherwise Winston and Tracer would be dead. You were a Commander; one of our best agents.”

Reaper was silent for a moment.

“Eat your oatmeal, Ziegler.”

Mercy shoved a spoonful in her mouth and kept typing away.

“I know when I’m right, no need to be prideful,” she pulled up a series of data readings, “These are the last readouts from the reactor I was using before the meltdown. This modified radiation must be the key to your regeneration and um, ghostly abilities.”

“I warned you all that it was a setup but none of you listened. They’d kill me to tie up Blackwatch and get free technology from you as you took the fall. A dead best friend and a pretty, young traitor to keep Jack interested in bearing Overwatch’s cross.”

“Is that why you won’t come back? We could help you and Sombra... we could even help Widowmaker.”

“Sombra does what she wants. I can’t control her and neither can Talon. Widowmaker though... This information cannot leave this room: the brainwashing technique wasn’t perfected yet. Amelie wakes up sometimes… it scares her. It’s one of the few things that can. Widow was made to be an entirely different person and she’s scared of giving her borrowed body back.”

“If we can get her back into Overwatch, she can work with them to get both you and I out.”

“I never said it was possible to get Amelie back. And Doomfist won’t roll over and let his best sniper go. If Talon suspects even the slightest conspiracy, it’ll purge itself of any and all loose ends. They could kill you.”

“If you let me go after I save you, they’ll do the same.”

“…”

“You _are_ going to let me go, right?”

“Yes, I just… don’t know how yet. I was… desperate when I applied for a team to help me get you. Talon’s going to start expecting intel from you.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Mercy crossed her arms. “What are your current ideas and what does Doomfist want to hear from me? I’m not doing a thing for you until you tell me.”

Reaper, bless him, actually looked like a scolded child as he formulated his answer.

“Either Sombra ‘accidentally’ leaks the coordinates of this stronghold or I fake your death.”

“Pah! What is with you and Jack and Ana and faking deaths?!”

“Good way to save face,” Reaper chuckled, and Mercy felt her heart ache for better times.

“Fine, I can work with that. Get me those samples and equipment and I’ll talk to Sombra. I think I really could use her help. And Doomfist?”

“Doomfist is… going to be complicated. He’s smarter than both of us combined- he’s going to want to know why I wanted you specifically and I don’t want him to know about my condition. We can’t give him false medical jargon or misleading intel because he’ll find out.”

Mercy thought for a moment.

“Instead of concrete information, what if we offer something abstract?”

“Oh no.”

\--

Widowmaker worked out when she felt normal and did ballet when she did not. Normal was a relative term though; to her it meant feeling no strong feelings one way or the other. Complete neutrality, ready for the next kill.

When this cool fog of nothingness was threatened by burgeoning memories, that neutrality was threatened. She didn’t know where she had learned ballet, or how she had become so good at it, but the flow of her body as it twisted and twirled only served to agitate that abnormal feeling. Like picking a scab even though it would only lead to scarring.

She knew her body was not hers. She wasn’t stupid- she had been designed by Talon to be cunning and intuitive, molded from an unwilling slate. Her own jailor. The way Sombra and Reaper looked at her, she knew they knew who she used to be. Some of the Overwatch operatives knew, too. Mercy probably did- she was close to Ana Amari.  

Reaper was keeping her from seeing Mercy, however, possessive of his prisoner. She knew he and Sombra weren’t 100% loyal to Talon, didn’t have the zeal for murder that she did. And yet they humored her, kept her in their inner circle of Talon Operatives With Names. Some days she hated it, their odd pity for her. Other days, she wanted to be in on their plans, wanted to at least know what they knew.

She spun with more force than was proper. This was one of those Some Days.

Talon made Widowmaker. She had no purpose but to serve them. If Sombra and Reaper defected… if she defected…

If she went to Overwatch, they would want Amelie back. They would want to get rid of Widowmaker, the terrorist killing machine.

Perhaps she did not have a right to exist, after all she had done.

Mercy’s cell was not far from the exercise facility. She could go there, go over Reaper’s head for clearance, and speak to the doctor herself. Show she was good for more than murder. Pick the brain she had yet to be ordered to spill upon the pavement. It wouldn’t be long.

\--

The files Mercy requested were hard to track down, but if anything that only made Sombra more eager to help. Talon was quite the playground, but the most complex targets were few and far in between. This data Mercy needed… someone did not want it to be found.

The files were split among several shareholders and supporters of the Petras Act, heavily encrypted and buried in inconspicuous servers. One such was in the biotechnology department of the Portrero University of Dorado.

Sombra had been here many times before; Dorado was home sweet home after all. Not to mention all the fun she had with Lumerico and Soldier: 76. She remembered how she had hired Los Muertos and one of her omnic informants to lure the old soldier out of hiding. He just couldn’t resist a justification to force his definition of justice down everyone’s throats.

But that was old hat, now. Garbed in a pop culture tee and ratty sukajan, she fit right in with the local student body. The biotechnology wing of the campus was located beside a statue of Guillermo Portrero shaking hands with some faculty member. At the member’s pewter feet was a vase of marigolds. A recent passing. Sombra made note of their name and continued on.

Sombra waited below a tree and pretended to read from a datapad until the clock struck six in the evening. Among the steady stream of students leaving class for dinner, she headed for the cluster of faculty offices in the darker corners of the two-story department. There, she found her quarry. A door with a wreath of marigolds and candles on either end. She hacked the keycard slot and slipped inside, cloaking herself from the security cameras until she could disable them.

It seemed her intuition paid off. The old faculty member’s computer was advanced, the tower the same height as a file cabinet. With her old setup, she’d never be able to access it. Good thing her biotic enhancements made her a walking virus. If she could breathe, she could adapt to and hack anything.

Sombra set to work until she found the data she needed. An encrypted folder marked with an “O”. Just like Mercy’s research. One down, but kind of simple compared to some of the other pieces.

Pinching the folder and dragging it away from the holographic screen, she flicked the folder open, bypassing the security code easily.

“Now that’s interesting,” Sombra purred as she scrolled through more medical jargon to blueprints about a nuclear reactor that appeared to have been commissioned to be built flawed. A lot of the names within the documents she recognized from scattered obituaries around the world. A lot of names that had passed the desk of Talon.

Of course Talon and Overwatch had butted heads long before Overwatch’s downfall, but when she found the list of the architects commissioned to build the reactor, it clicked.

Over half the architects on the list were Talon disposables.

Sombra crushed the simulated pixels in her hand, uploading it to her personal cloud and eliminating it from the system.

**[DATA LOSS DETECTED: INITIATING QUARANTINE]**

Sombra felt a shock run up her spine as the red messaged blared across the screen accompanied by a damnably familiar eye.

“No fucking way,” she muttered as a siren began to blare. Metal panels dropped down over the single door and window in the room, which would cut off any normal thief. Sombra smirked, she wouldn’t be caught red-handed in a dumpy little campus office.

Dragging her nails down the window, the hacker deactivated the electronic mechanism controlling it and the metal shutter slid back up. Hoisting herself over the bookshelf, Sombra flipped around and slid feet first out of the narrow window and onto the ground, cloaking on impact.

She ran through the now confused stream of students, careful not to be touched by anyone until she had space to decloak in the women’s restroom. In the low yellow lighting, Sombra gripped the sink and looked hard at herself in the mirror. She didn’t expect to see that eye again so soon but now that she had, she was actually scared. What was The Eye doing in such close proximity to Talon? She would have to leave the scene soon, but go where? Back to the complex with Reaper? Bad idea until she knew how close Talon was to The Eye. The security system in that tiny office wasn’t designed with her in mind, but that could have been purposeful on their part. If she were dumb enough to think some metal shutters were all that was standing in her way, she could walk right into a trap returning to the complex.

Sombra fixed her hair, adjusted her hat, and left the bathroom. By this point, there were local police on the scene, lights flickering in the sunset.

“Do you know what happened?” a student asked her as they coincidentally fell into step.

“Someone started a fire or something,” Sombra shrugged. “Hey, I’m new here. Know any good places off campus to eat?”


	5. Sombra Makes A Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra makes a deal. Mercy pretends to be straight. Ana attends an autopsy. Tracer, Zarya, and Symmetra have a nice dinner.

“Well, it’s official,” Junkrat spun around in the desk chair as Lúcio and Torbjörn entered the medbay, “I can’t read binary.”

“Shoo!” Torbjörn waved the anarchist out of his chair before taking it himself and hooking up a probe from Athena.

“What did you do?” Lúcio asked.

“I didn’t do anythin’!” Junkrat held up his hands, “I was watching the thing like you asked, may or may not have been playin’ minesweeper, when it suddenly lit up all purple and one and zero-ey.”

“It’s probably Sombra again,” Lúcio grumbled. He was getting real tired of the hacker meddling with their operations, especially since they still didn’t have any leads on Mercy. Reinhardt said Ana, Soldier, and McCree found something in Switzerland but hadn’t said what. They had all been waiting for a video call from him when Junkrat had called him and Torbjörn back to the medbay.

“Ta-da!” Suddenly the screen flickered to Sombra herself, in what appeared to be a high-end hotel room. She was dressed in a plush bathrobe and curlers, swirling a crystal glass of some expensive liquor.

“What do you want?” Torbjörn asked, hoping to keep her on long enough for Athena to triangulate on the hacker’s location. If they caught her, they would have a chance at finding out where Talon was holding Mercy.

“Don’t be so distrustful!” Sombra laughed before getting serious. “Look, I need your help, you need my help.”

“Okay…” Lúcio nodded slowly, subtly eyeing the progress bar on Athena’s probe. Not close enough.

“I need a place to crash for a bit. I’m willing to chill with you guys and get you in to see Mercy-“

“You know where she is?” Junkrat blurted.

“I know everything, you… weirdo. Here are my conditions- they’re simple as can be. I’ll be at the Ravassa Steakhouse a block from the Dorado recreational airfield. I want to be met by Symmetra and Zaryanova, _maybe_ Tracer can come if she’s flying them. The second I think I’m compromised though, I’m gone and you’re never going to find me. I disabled that child’s play probe by the way, so stop looking at it. Do we have a deal?”

\--

The lamplight was directly in Mercy’s face, a disorienting tactic. She was handcuffed to a ring in the middle of the table, allowing very little movement. Reaper told her about some of the questions they would ask and the methods they would use, but he was anxious about something. Sombra had yet to report back to them on acquiring the scattered pieces of the research done by the other members on the Orpheus project. He was being debriefed by Doomfist himself somewhere else over video call.

Mercy could not see the faces of the shadowy figures behind the one-way mirror, but Widowmaker was in the room with her beside the only door, exuding deadly intent. She and the assassin were always on opposite ends of the battlefield whenever they clashed; this was the closest she had ever been to her. She was terrifying… and beautiful.

“Dr. Angela Ziegler, codename ‘Mercy’,” the voice of her interrogator was distorted, further so over the speaker system. “You are Reaper’s guest. He is ours.”

“I’ve kept my ‘lodgings’ perfectly clean if that’s what you want to know,” Mercy smirked. They would have to try harder to see her fear.

“No, we want to know about Overwatch. What are your current projects? Who are your civilian sympathizers? Tell us and you can be rewarded.”

“With another curtain for my toilet? I’m fine, thank you.”

“Widowmaker.”

Widowmaker was upon Mercy in a second, long fingers upon the pressure point where her neck and chest met. The sudden acute pain caused Mercy to cough, then choke and struggle for air.

“Being able to volunteer this information willingly is a privilege we’re affording you. If you won’t talk, we’ll make you write. If you won’t write, we’ll scrape the knowledge from your mind one way or another.”

Something about the way the last sentence was said made Widowmaker’s pressure on Mercy falter, as if she were urging her to speak, say anything that would appease them. But was it real or just another cunning rung in her web?

“I… I-” Mercy coughed, and the presence behind the one way mirror asked Widowmaker to cease. She retreated to her corner, golden eyes in the dark vacuum outside the lamplight. “I’m in love with Reaper.”

“…And how is this relevant information?”

Mercy went to caress her neck before the chain stopped her. The delivery of the lie was weak thanks to Widowmaker, but it bought her some time. Talon didn’t trust Reaper, but they needed his power. Doomfist seemed to like him well enough considering he broke him out of prison. She would have to play on that without getting them both killed to deflect from questions about Overwatch.

“We have been involved for at least half a year now, our latest tryst was a month ago; he met me in Stockton, California.”

“Again, Dr. Ziegler. How is this relevant?”

“He’s dying of his condition. We gambled on a fake kidnapping so I could try to save his life without looking like he betrayed Talon or that I betrayed Overwatch. I’m here to save one of your best agents.”

“We have more scientists and doctors at our disposal than he could ever want for. Why you?”

Mercy steepled her hands.

“Because it’s my fault he’s like that.”

There was silence on the other end of the window, long enough to make Widowmaker lean forward slightly to search for movement within the dark glass.

“We’ll grant your request in exchange for your membership. Turns out we’ve just had an opening.”

\--

“This is Doctor Pohl, acting as prosector. The date is August fifth, 2076 and it is currently one o’clock in the afternoon. This autopsy will be conducted in the Lacroix Memorial Hospital in Geneva, Switzerland before the body is reburied. I am joined today by civilian Aysha Selim.”

“I don’t know if I can watch this,” McCree said, looking through the window to the autopsy theatre where Doctor Pohl, her assistant, and Ana stood dressed in scrubs. They had been allowed to attend under fake names in order to point out any further anomalies that may be discovered upon Reyes’ body. It wasn’t the medical gore that made him uneasy, but what they might discover may imply about his old mentor.

“Subject is former Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes, alleged dead for seven years. However, a cursory examination shows half of the body is perfectly preserved while the other half is burnt and rotted away. Presence of tendril-like charring is moving, could be fungal in nature. Body exudes low levels of radiation. Beginning to make incisions now.”

“Oof,” Reinhardt winced as the prosector began to cut into the body. Beginning with the Y-incision, the slice of the scalpel was met with fresh blood. The doctor was visibly disturbed by this.

“Another anomaly: body is bleeding from incision despite age. Now blood is drying black, flaking, and becoming some sort of carbon-based smoke. Cut has closed and already begun to scar slightl- What is this? What happened to this man, Selim?” Dr. Pohl asked Ana.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Ana said, “Do you know what might be the cause of this?”

“I don’t know enough yet to say for sure, but his radiation level spiked during the cutting. I’ve never seen radiation like this outside of science fiction. I would need to cross-check with the autopsy done before the burial.”

“Those records don’t… They’ve been lost to time. I have no idea where we may be able to obtain them.”

“Red tape, huh? Well, I’m going to need a lot of forceps in order to continue this autopsy. Help me reopen this incision.”

\--

“I can’t believe she said that!” Tracer was positively steamed as she piloted the jet. “ _Maybe_ Tracer can come, _maybe._ Like I’m not the only one who knows how to fly all of our ships. I mean, Winston can fly some of them, sure, and I remember Soldier told me he knew how to fly a crop-duster but still! I’m the pilot! It’s my thing!”

“I am not pleased about meeting her either,” Zarya said, “She will pay for disrespecting my homeland. What about you, Satya? Are you comfortable flying out with so little information?”

“It’s suspicious, but I do not fear Sombra. She doesn’t seem to be able to hack my hard light creations after they’ve been made,” Symmetra was nose deep in a novel as it was the only thing that could prevent her airsickness, but sounded as confident as ever. “If things go wrong, I will be able to protect us.”

“I can protect myself just fine, Satya,” Zarya smiled, stretching her arms, “If you want me to, I can protect you too.”

“You two better sort out who’s protecting who, because we’re about to touch down!” Tracer called from the cockpit. Her ears were still red from her fit, but the thrill of flight kept her levelheaded.

The jet kissed the runway rolling, wings opening up to combat the momentum as the roar of motion shook the craft. Symmetra held her book closer to her face, irritated by the sounds.

After disembarking, the women headed to the roadside where an omnic with extensive body modifications waited. In the moonlight, the glow of the omnic’s skeletal inking betrayed their allegiance: Los Muertos.

Zarya nodded to their apparent chauffeur and held the door for Tracer and Symmetra. The omnic was silent during the entire fifteen minute drive to the steakhouse except for a brief phone call where they talked amorously with someone on the phone. When their drive was over, the omnic waited for the women to disembark and then drove off into the night.

The steakhouse itself was quiet, few people seemed to even know the place existed. Still, the smells from the kitchen were delicious and the décor was calm and comfortable.

“Zaryanova party of four?” The hostess asked, noticing the agents in the doorway.

“Uhm, yes,” Zarya said, caught off guard that Sombra had used her name for the reservation. Hopefully that meant they hadn’t been led on a wild goose chase.

“Right this way.”

“Geez, if I had known you didn’t know how to take a hint, I would have specified that you guys needed to dress cute for this. You stick out like a sore thumb.” Was the first thing Sombra said when they reached the table. Where they wore their typical uniforms, Sombra was wearing a short leather jacket over a gradient skater dress, possibly to hide her cynbernetic enhancements. None of the Overwatch agents took a seat.

“We aren’t here to blend in,” Symmetra said, “What was so important that you needed us to fly to you?”

“Sit down and order something, then we can talk.” Sombra steepled her hands. Zarya looked towards the kitchen; would it be possible that Sombra had insiders in so innocuous a restaurant? That perhaps what they ordered could be poisoned and the cure would only be exchanged for integral information on Overwatch?

“Well, I am hungry…” Tracer was the first to slide into the booth, then Symmetra, then Zarya. “What do you recommend?”

“For your tastes, I think the only thing that won’t be too spicy for you is the water.” Sombra smiled sweetly.

“Why, you!” Tracer was fuming once again. When the waitress came by to collect their orders, she asked for the spiciest steak dish in the house. Sombra just chuckled.

“I’ll ask again. Lucio and Torbjörn said you wanted to stay with us. How do we know this isn’t a clumsy attempt at infiltration?” Symmetra asked.

“Because, well, I’ve been compromised. Turns out whoever made the Swiss Overwatch base go bye-bye and a personal enemy of mine are working in tandem with Talon. One of my informants got it to me that I’ve been blacklisted and am officially a traitor.”

“Big surprise,” Tracer forced out as she tearfully forced herself to eat her meal.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s where it gets sweet for you. I got caught because I was running an errand for everyone’s favorite doctor. I can help you rescue her and Widowmaker.”

“Wait, _and_ Widowmaker?” Zarya set her spoonful of abondigas back into the bowl. “What could that woman need saving from? Assassination charges?”

“Oh, you don’t know! That’s right, only Tracer does.”

“Is there a way to reverse the brainwashing?” Tracer asked, “Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“There is a way, but it isn’t going to be easy. Widow is still Amelie Lacroix, but everything but her ability to kill is completely suppressed. I can see her chipping away at the walls, though. She’s in there and I can help you find her and Mercy. I miiiiight even tell you who Reaper is.”

“This either a lot of information being given freely or a lot of bullshit,” Zarya was more and more on edge with every word, “Only one of those things is your M.O.”

“Are you still upset about the Volskaya incident?” Now Sombra was annoyed as well.

“Can you blame her? Or any of us for not trusting you? You’ve slighted us all. Many times. We have only your word to go on right now,” Symmetra took it upon herself to mediate before the other patrons began to take notice of the rising tensions at their table. “We require proof, is all.”

There was a flicker and a webcam feed of Mercy popped up, small enough to be hidden among them. She looked up, surprised.

“Mercy!” Tracer shouted before Zarya grabbed her by the arm and smiled impishly at the other patrons as if she had just beaten the time traveler at arm wrestling. Symmetra and Sombra both brought up a finger to shoosh her.

“You are so annoying,” Sombra muttered.

“Tracer! And Symmetra, Zarya, and Sombra! I heard from Reaper…”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t say it out loud. It’s embarrassing,” Sombra said, “I don’t know how long I can keep this channel open, so we have to be quick. Can you tell them how nice to you I’ve been?”

“You look well, Mercy. We’re relieved,” Symmetra smiled.

“Danke, Symmetra. I can’t say I feel well, however. I’ve um, taken Sombra’s place.”

Ice gripped Tracer’s heart.

“Mercy, no! Just sit tight, we can get you out of there in a wink! Sombra can tell us where you are!”

“I could, but-“

“-But I have to help an old friend first,” Mercy smiled sadly, “We don’t have much time because neither of us know if Talon is going to brainwash me but I need to do this, trust me.”

Tracer began to tear up.

“Mercy…”

“Tracer, listen to me. We have a small window and I need your help. I know you don’t want to but you have to protect Sombra. If I’m successful here, she’s the only one who can get Widowmaker and I out of here alive.”

“ _If_ you are successful and if we can get Widowmaker to leave,” Zarya added. _Probably caaaaan’t_ , Sombra mouthed. _Not willinglyyyyyyyyy_.

Mercy nodded.

“If I can, I’ll find a way to contact you again. Until then, I need you to tell everyone: if you see Reaper-“

A shot rang out and the feed disappeared as Sombra shouted in pain, a spurt of blood spraying from her upper arm as a bullet tore through flesh and tech alike.

Zarya reacted the split-second before chaos ensured and flipped the table, the heroes all ducking behind it with their injured unlikely ally.

“Hang in there!” Tracer shouted, producing her pistols from their port on her harness. Zarya’s particle cannon and Symmetra’s photon projector were too bulky for what was essentially a half-baked stealth mission. Luckily, the latter still had her arm.

“Buy me time while I prepare a teleporter!” Symmetra shouted over the stampede of fleeing diners.

More shots rang out, embedding themselves into the upturned dinner table. Automatic fire, but nothing too precise. Their assailant(s) would have to get closer. Zarya nodded to Tracer and began tearing up their cloth napkins to tend to Sombra’s wound.

Tracer recalled herself to the front door, now absolutely trashed, and then blinked forward into the bar to rapidly scan for the source of the gunfire.

There! Swarming through the broken windows of the left end of the steakhouse were Talon goons armed with submachine guns. Tracer zipped to flank them and sent a burst of fire into their backs, chewing up their body armor and dropping three.

A familiar chirp of alert rang from the right end where they were sitting and Tracer grinned when she saw two turrets on each side of the table begin to fry the frontline.

Tracer was delighted, recalling to the bar and back to glass a grunt readying a grenade across the face with a bottle of champagne. Her eyes bugged when the grenade dropped into the spreading puddle of bubbly missing its pin.

“Cheers, boys!” She called as she blinked herself back behind the relative safety of the table as the grenade exploded. When the dust cleared, the restaurant was devoid of life besides them and one ghostly pale chef collapsed in the doorway of the men’s room, clutching his heart. Tracer let out a breath and looked back to her teammates, noting Zarya’s grumpy face as she tied off Sombra’s makeshift bandage.

“Didn’t save any glory for me, huh?” The Russian huffed as Symmetra brought a four-use teleporter into being.

“Overwatch sure does know how to party,” Sombra admitted deliriously, “I wonder how many of those meatheads were excited to finally get the order to take me out…”


	6. Moira Makes A Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Overwatch team forms a plan moving forward. Doomfist gets a phone call. Moira makes a phone call. Efi's flight is cancelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been so busy with my senior year of college that i was actually sitting on this new chapter for months. while i have the rest of the fic planned out (hence the updated chapter numbers) but i've been feeling the need to rewrite the fic Again because i feel like my earlier chapters are still cringeworthy. not sure if i will, because i'm not really sure anyone even reads this fic but that might be the depression talking. we'll see!

The large meeting room on the base in Gibraltar was starting to get kind of crowded. Winston felt, hoped, that this was a good thing.

“Well, uh, welcome to our newest member?” he began, awkwardly.

“I never said I was joining you guys,” Sombra jeered from her seat. The fact that nobody wanted to sit near her made the room appear even smaller. Someone near the back of the room coughed.

“Right…” Winston nodded shyly. Just when he was starting to get used to being the de facto leader, this whole mess happened. Small-scale peacekeeping mercenary work seemed like a distant luxury now that they were toe to toe with Talon again. He wondered how long everyone would be willing to listen to an introverted gorilla from the moon. “Um, as for everyone, I’m sure you’re all very aware of the crisis at hand. Thankfully, Sombra here has offered to help us in exchange for protection from Talon and Captain Amari’s team has returned from Switzerland so we have fresh leads to follow. Do you want to begin, Captain?”

“It’s just Ana now, habibi. No need for old titles,” Ana rose from her seat, and allowed Reinhardt to take her hand as she stepped up the short stage in front of the enormous meeting room screen. “I will be transparent with you all. McCree, Soldier: 76 and I went to Switzerland without telling anyone due to the nature of our task. Before formally rejoining Overwatch, Soldier and I had a run in with Reaper in Egypt. During the clash with him, I unmasked him and was deeply unsettled by who I saw. We traveled to Switzerland to confirm our suspicions and we’re absolutely sure now. Reaper is Gabriel Reyes.”

“But Ana, Soldier said that he watched Commander Reyes die. It sounded like something impossible to survive.” Mei spoke up from her spot behind Roadhog. She had to poke her head around one of the enforcer’s giant arms.

“Yes, that is true. Technically Reyes did not survive, but due to the nature of the sabotage that caused the explosion in Switzerland, he gained powers for lack of a better term that made him able to revive and regenerate himself at the cost of being in a constant state of decay.” Ana nodded. What a mess they had made, leaving everyone else at varying levels of caught up. A wave of murmurs washed through the crowd- with only McCree and Reinhardt to quell any rumors with quick interjections. “This came about through Mercy’s research on resuscitating someone just after the conventional tipping point where they would be pronounced dead, which was being funded by Overwatch. We think this is why Reaper went through Talon to capture her. Something is wrong with his condition.”

“Sombra, you seem pretty interested in these findings. Got any insight?” McCree leaned over, rolling the unlit cigar between his lips one side to the other. Ever perceptive of even the slightest changes in one’s expression, he had found another secret. Sombra muttered something under her breath- she had underestimated him.

“You guys are right on the money, congrats or whatever!” Sombra clapped, “Gabe’s been sick for a while now- I think his condition is killing him. When I got caught, Mercy had me tracking down pieces of the Orpheus project that the investors in the project had claimed during Overwatch’s downfall. Now that Mercy’s my replacement, they’re probably going to have their admittedly less skilled hackers picking up the rest of the pieces. The ones they don’t already have anyways- Talon’s closer to the fall of Overwatch than I thought and the explosion at HQ- thanks to this project- looks like the centerpiece of the conspiracy. They’re probably going to move bases soon since I’m out of the bag, but I can show you guys to where they were keeping Mercy originally if you think you can learn anything from it.”

“It may yield at least a little information. I remember Gerard had a couple scavenging methods- nothing big, but we can compare it to his old notes and get layout trends and forensic evidence.” McCree mused.

“Helix has also been trying to track Doomfist since his escape. I can contact them and request some of my squad be placed in areas of interest to alert us if he surfaces,” Pharah added. A plan was forming.

“He’s probably still in Numbani- he needs to reclaim his gauntlet from the museum,” Sombra interjected, “I’d say your birdies should book it there. We won’t be able to catch him unawares- he’s probably going to move up the heist now that they failed to tie me up as a loose end.”

“We ought to send out a group immediately, then.” Winston opened his mouth to speak but Pharah was a jump ahead of him, “We should send a recon group to the Talon base and a strike team to Numbani. We may need to let Talon reclaim the rest of the Orpheus project so Mercy can help Reaper- it could also potentially prolong the need to brainwash her since they’ll want her intellect intact. Numbani is going to attract a lot of global attention, though. We already had trouble with Vishkar almost ousting us before we were ready. The question is: are we ready now?”

“Look at you, little Miss Captain! Mama must be so proud,” Sombra cooed even though Pharah was older than she. Pharah and Ana cast glances at each other with varied levels of anxiety and bashfulness. Since Ana had joined the recall effort, their relationship had been far better but the strain remained. Despite Ana’s wishes, this was who Pharah wanted to be. She was a grown woman now. That didn’t necessarily mean Sombra’s needling was helpful, though.

“Quiet, child,” Ana snapped at the hacker. To everyone’s surprise, Sombra actually pursed her lips shut. There was no doubt in her mind that the old sniper could lay her flat on her back if she wanted to.

“Uh, I’ll volunteer for Numbani. I’ve had a lot of concerts there so I know the streets- the people will also probably be more amicable to my help,” Lúcio raised his hand in support of Pharah’s proposal. Her natural leadership was magnetic.

“Genji, Winston, and I should come too. We’ve faced Doomfist in Numbani before. It’ll be nice to get in round two,” Tracer smirked.

On and on the discussion went until two groups were formed. For the recon mission, a four-man squad: Sombra, McCree, Roadhog, and Ana. For Numbani, a six-man team: Genji, Tracer, Winston, Reinhardt, Lúcio, and Zenyatta. Pharah would advise the strike team from Gibraltar while Soldier would be on standby for the recon team. In the meantime, D.Va would return to Busan early for a gaming tournament where she was to be an analyst, Torbjörn would finish taking an inventory of the watchpoint armaments, and Mei could continue her research on the weather record she had brought from Antarctica. For everyone else, a brief break. Stress had been high since Mercy’s kidnapping but now it finally felt like they had a plan for moving forward.

\--

**CALL INCOMING: R**

“Reaper.”

“Doomfist.”

“Speak.”

“I have an update on Mercy. The others have approved her as a double agent. We are relocating to Pantheon in an hour.”

“You never told me your body was destroying itself.”

“I didn’t know until recent.”

“Be careful. There are many of our allies with a lower threshold for secrecy than I. They may see you and your lover as a liability.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I am moving up my attack on the Numbani Heritage Museum to this afternoon. Sombra has probably gone to Overwatch for protection. She needs to be neutralized as soon as possible.”

“A full-scale attack on Overwatch isn’t feasible yet. Not a successful one, at least. They’ve grown in number in the past year.”

“We have an opening, however. If they are smart, they will send a team after me in Numbani and to Sarmatia for trace evidence. Last we checked, they have a force of fifteen combatants and a small crew of engineers and informants. If they send adequate forces to both locations, Gibraltar will be vulnerable.”

“I will let Widowmaker take a squa-“

“No. We cannot risk her being compromised by Sombra. I will contact her later with her next mission. You are not to engage either. Send in Chaser’s squad and have Lancer advise them.”

“Affirmative.”

“I’ll call you when I am done here.”

Doomfist peered down the street at the architectural majesty that was the museum. With foundation covering his cybernetic enhancements and a sharp suit, he looked like the average handsome businessman. However, instead of paperwork in his briefcase, he carried his armor. The case itself was specially designed to disguise its contents when examined through conventional security means. He had originally planned to attack the museum at night when the security was higher but there was also potential for more chaos and confusion to mask the true nature of his assault until it was too late. Now that Sombra had outed herself as an enemy of Talon’s ideals beyond redemption however, he could not wait for nightfall and risk facing off with Overwatch again before he had access to his gauntlet. There was no doubt it was in need of repairs after being used by that child when Widowmaker and Reaper had failed to claim it last year. He would be able to make short work of Numbani’s peace-weakened defenses, but if that damned gorilla showed up, he risked recapture. He didn’t fear this new Overwatch, but he also wasn’t stupid.

Doomfist walked down the street with confidence, body language carefully regulated to discourage communication but quell suspicion at the same time. The banners that used to bear his, Ngumi, and Adeyemi’s faces now bore the face of a young girl: Efi Oladele. It served his purposes well that nobody could connect his face to his identity just yet.

The museum was not too crowded. It was a weekday after all, and most people were at work. There were no schoolchildren on tour either, which was an added bonus. He felt no joy when children were hurt, and avoided it when possible.

He placed his suitcase on the rolling x-ray and walked through the metal detector. When it beeped, he stepped aside and allowed the attendant to scan him. Men with cybernetic implants weren’t uncommon, the Omnic Crisis still fresh in everyone’s minds. Not discovering his weaponized enhancements, the attendant gave him a smile and thanked him for his patience. Doomfist took his suitcase and began to wander the halls.

There was some truly beautiful art and artifacts on display, but unfortunately he wasn’t here for pleasure. The Doomfist exhibit was towards the back of the building, a permanent fixture in the memories of the people here. It was bizarre, entering a room with a third of it dedicated to him as if he were some folktale. Holovids of him destroying whole buildings, the effect of his actions on his family’s company stocks, his defeat. A car that the ninja from Overwatch had sliced in half sat on a small dais. The time travelling girl had donated her broken chronal accelerator. A picture of the gorilla shyly flashing a peace sign next to the mayor of Numbani. His blood boiled.

There were bathrooms at the end of the exhibit. He entered the men’s room and opened his briefcase. The thumb pad, recognizing his fingerprint, revealed its true contents to him. The traditional clothing fit him like a second skin, the armor a part of himself. He abandoned both the suitcase and the suit in the stall. It would not matter in half an hour.

\--

**CALLING: Scáthphuipéad**

“You don’t need Dr. Ziegler’s help.”

“I believe you lost your right to have an opinion about me a long time ago, Moira.”

“Oh, maybe so. Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. Resurrection came up again at the ministry of biology and I thought up some avenues we could try to correct your rate of decay. I see you decided instead to switch general practitioners.” Her flat overlooking the Abu Hassoun Gardens is almost completely dark, lit by a low starlight of hanging bulbs. She’s growing a special medical breed of fungus in the living room so the temperature must be moderated and the natural light kept out. Her biotic enhancement suit glows in the darkness, the communication screen reflecting off the tubes. She plans to go out tonight.

“…You said you were taking a leave from Talon operations until your lecture series at the university was over and you had more ‘room to move’.”

“Check my syllabus- that time is now. I know you aren’t into women, so I’ll meet you in Pantheon and we’ll see if we can’t come up with a more convincing lie for the others.”

\--

Efi knew something was wrong when the first tremor shook the thick windows of Adawe International. She watched as the arrivals and departures screen updated: the flights previously listed as taking off were now delayed.

Then, everything was cancelled.

An alarm began to sound.

_“Patrons of Adawe International Airport, this is an emergency announcement,”_ a synthesized female voice droned over the intercom, _“Please find the nearest emergency exit and vacate the premises in an orderly manner. Please do not engage the OR15 units.”_

The message repeated several times in different languages, but Efi could hardly hear them as Mom and Dad ushered her towards the exit. During the mad jostle for the doors, she dropped her mint tea. Looking back at the lost cup, she saw a sleek transport land in the middle of the tarmac outside and shoot down the OR15s converging on it.

She blanched. If this was a terrorist attack, the OR15s weren’t ready for it. They weren’t tested enough, weren’t strong enough.

Another tremor, this time closer.

Efi had hardly realized she had been separated from her parents, that she was awash in a crowd of strangers until her legs gave out and a metal hand reached out to steady her. She looked up and saw an OR15.

“Please remember to mind your step,” the robot chimed. She nodded, dumbfounded at her sudden disconnect from reality.

Screams pierced the air as one of the walls came down, and then suddenly everything was in slow motion. The OR15 nodded to her politely and then trotted to the source of destruction.

Hardly thinking, Efi dashed to an upturned vending machine instead of finding her parents and began to snap pictures of the black transport with her phone for later analysis.

There was a groan of metal and then the fusion driver right arm of an OR15 was tossed over her head. She poked her head over the dented machine and couldn’t stop herself from gasping.

Efi was hardly four when Akande Ogundimu was defeated and arrested. Even still, she was cognizant of the destruction he had caused. Dad didn’t want her to look, but she did anyways. She didn’t understand why Ogundimu did the things he did- she still did.

Here he was, though, with his gauntlet back and everything. She had just gone to see it two months ago. It had gotten damaged during a Talon attack last year but it was obviously still capable of destroying the OR15 defense units. She felt the urge to stand up, to ask him why he was doing this. She did not.

Under his foot was the rest of the OR15 whose arm he had tossed like it was nothing.

Another OR15 accosted him, obscuring Efi’s view of the defeated unit. Whether this OR15 was the one who had helped her to her feet, she could not logically tell. But something about this robot was different from the others.

There was no contest, however.

The entire building shook with the impact as Doomfist drove his rocket punch into the OR15, sending it into the wall. The robot’s body seemed to close like a giant hand around his gauntlet, folding inwards before flying back.

Numbani’s finest couldn’t take Doomfist at his worst. They had grown soft and paid for it.

The crunch of debris underfoot drew Efi’s attention as the Successor turned his back to her.

“I do not seek to harm children. Leave.”

Of course he knew she was here. He didn’t wait for an answer, just ran most likely to the transport out on the tarmac. She took pictures of this too before rising and cautiously approaching the crater in the wall where the last OR15 lay. Rubble and dust fell from the wall as the protector robot’s lights finally flickered out.

“You tried to protect me… until the very end,” Efi reached out to trace the deactivated carapace. “Thank you.”


End file.
